A Presbyterian minister interprets the ancient scriptures for a new day

Sunday, May 20, 2012

Oh
No, Not Another New Song!

Psalm
98

John
Bell Weekend

May
20, 2012

I must compliment so many of you for
being polite to our guest. It’s not every day that we have a world-known
composer in our midst. We welcome him. We are glad for the gift of his music,
and delighted we have a chance to sing it, even though almost all of it is new.

All of us encounter the new song. We
hear it and wonder if it is going to catch on. The song sounds for us on the
radio, the first time. The tune might be catchy, we can’t quite make out the
words. It may have an insistent rhythm, even if it leaves the person next to us
quite cold.

As I retrieved my older daughter from
the university on Friday, we sped home on Interstate 80. She was driving, and our
rule is whoever sits behind the wheel shall determine the soundtrack for the
trip. I didn’t know that some of those radio stations even existed. There she
was, singing along to songs that I had never heard. When there was a lull in
the action and we could not find a station that intersected with her tastes, I
decided to pop in a couple of CDs that I had recently acquired. She feigned
interest briefly, even to the point of benign neglect, and tolerated three songs
that she had never heard before and probably never needs to hear again.

Oh, no, not another new song!

Church people know the sentiment, even though
they are among the very few people in the world who sing all the time. In fact,
in the treasure chest of old sermon illustrations, you can find copies of
correspondence from people who complained about the new songs in church that
they were forced to sing. They took the time to write to a pastor, organist, or
choir director about something that they didn’t want to sing. One letter said:

"I am no music scholar, but I feel I know appropriate
church music when I hear it. Last Sunday's new hymn - if you can call it
that - sounded like a sentimental love ballad one would expect to hear crooned
in a saloon. If you insist on exposing us to rubbish like this - in God's
house! - don't be surprised if many of the faithful look for a new place to
worship. The hymns we grew up with are all we need."

This letter was written in1863and the song that concerned the author
was the hymn "Just as I Am". Another letter inquired:

"What is wrong with the inspiring hymns with which we grew
up? When I go to church, it is to worship God, not to be distracted with
learning a new hymn. Last Sunday's was particularly unnerving. The
tune was un-singable and the new harmonies were quite distorting."

This letter was written in1890and about the hymn "What
A Friend We Have in Jesus".

Let’s
not forget that, once upon a time, every song was new. Let’s not forget that
new songs are composed every day by thousands of the world’s composers. And let’s
forget the advice of hymn writer Brian Wren, who suggests that the best way to
deal with outdated lyrics and antiquated sentiments is by creating new songs
that state our ancient faith in Christ in a fresh, new way. “O sing to the Lord
a new song.”

Even
so, there are many reasons why we don’t want to sing a new song. Can you help
me name a few? Here’s one reason: we don’t know it, so we don’t want to sing
it. Here’s another reason: we don’t like it, at least not yet. We haven’t heard
the disc jockey play it four thousand times and tell us that it’s a good song.

Or here’s
another reason: we aren’t so sure about doing anything new. That would push us
beyond the boundary of the familiar. Perhaps we want to stick with what we know.
Kind of like what the letter to the Hebrews says of old father Abraham and good
mother Sarah – they set out not knowing where they were going (11:8). What kind
of journey is that? Even if they had a map, God said, “I’ll show you when you
get there.” The new song leads us on a new journey, to the place where we have
to trust, the place where have to keep hoping, and keep hoping. As anybody who
has taken that journey knows, the trip itself can change us.

Many of
you know my friend, the saxophonist Al Hamme. Years ago, when he was a young man,
he found himself in a city where the great saxophonist John Coltrane was
playing. He went to the club, paid his cover charge, sat down front, right by
the bandstand. The pianist that night was a fill-in, Bobby Timmons from
Philadelphia. Bobby was a great musician, but he hadn’t been keeping up with
Coltrane’s musical explorations. As John began to soar in a duet with his
drummer, Bobby leaned off the bandstand, caught Al’s eye, nodded and said, “What
(are) they doing?” It wasn’t obvious. The music was new, it was difficult. Bobby was signaling
he couldn’t keep up.

I
suppose if you’re bored, you could chase after all things new and the
mysterious. Our part of the world revels in the new gadget, the improved
dishwasher soap, the latest Top Ten tune. With our shortened attention spans,
we latch like Velcro to the hot television show, the latest diet expert, or the
brand new celebrity who graces the cover of People Magazine before we ever actually
learned the names of the last dozen hottest celebrities. We live in a
disposable society, where songs, like people, are heavily marketed, quickly
used up, and dismissed.

That’s
not the case with Psalm 98. Some scholars say the text is over 2500 years old. It’s
been around a while. Somewhere along the line, we lost the original tune, so
every generation has to make a new song out of this old set of words. That’s
what faith does, as you know. We take the ancient words we inherited, and we
spin some new gold out of that old straw. Faith is always one generation away
from extinction, unless we take something old and, from it, we claim it as our
own.

And this
one truth is inescapable: the invitation to sing, to inhale God’s Spirit and
exhale our song, is the invitation to welcome God’s Holy Breath into our
bloodstreams and then to put it back into the air for others to hear. Singing
our faith is our embodied faith. It is active participation, not passive
observance.

I wish
this were so all the time. When we have guests here, who visit a worship
service and stand to watch while the rest of us sing, I often daydream about
stopping the music and becoming rather direct. “Excuse me – let’s pause this
song. It’s in the Blue book, people. Please pick it up, open to the page, take
a deep breath, and make a holy sound.” Someday I might just do that – not because
I want to be rude, but because I have come to the conviction that, until we sing,
we cannot completely believe. Until we desire our faith to be processed through
our lungs, it’s impossible to completely claim the faith.

I say
this, because I’ve seen what happens when people sing about God. They are
lifted above their distress. They are brought into the presence of a Judge who
sees everything clearly and who works to correct every injustice. They are liberated
from the prejudice and arrogance of this age, and welcomed by a God who really
does love everybody. I’ve seen grumps and malcontents and the serious
complainers strangely renewed when they start to sing praises. And I’ve seen
how a good tune takes the broken-hearted seriously, and refuses to let them
stay broken.

If we
sing the new song, it can change us. Not merely by taking us to uncharted
territory, but returning us to territory we know all too well. Psalm 98 does
not have any difficult words to look up. There are no new concepts. This is the
text for the most published Christmas carol of all time, “Joy to the World.” It’s
hardly a new song for any of us, yet, it makes us new every time we sing it. Remember
what the Psalm sings? God is coming because God remembers us. God is doing
amazing things and “heaven and nature sing.” God rules the world, “with truth
and grace, and makes the nations prove the glory of his righteousness and
wonders of God’s love.” So we make the joyful noise, just like the roaring
floods and the singing hills.

And if
that’s not enough, there’s the text from the fifth chapter of Revelation. The
door to heaven swings open from the other side, and what everybody hears is an
everlasting song. Christ is praised as the One who is worthy to receive the seven-fold,
perfect affirmation: power, riches, wisdom and might, honor, glory, and
blessing. In the presence of God and of the Lamb, everybody is singing. That’s
the ultimate reality of the universe, God’s new song. So we might as well tune
up for it here.

I’ve
been chewing on what we should do about this. Rather than finish the sermon
with more words, let’s practice the very thing that our texts are preaching. If
our composer and friend would come forward, we ask him to lead us in singing a
new song, all the glory of God.